


Coffee Beans in the Harbor

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Emma Swan leads a mundane but wonderful life tending to her coffee shop, Swan's Coffee Beans. Everything changes when she meets marine biologist Killian Jones, who is still reeling a bit from demons in the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlinthebandtshirt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlinthebandtshirt/gifts).



**This is a birthday gift to the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt on Tumblr. Happy birthday, Jordy! Hope you have an amazing day today <3**

**(Line breaks mean change of POV. Enjoy!)**

* * *

The door chimes tinkle loudly but sweetly, signaling the entrance of a customer into the shop. Emma sprinkles cinnamon on top of the whipped cream in the mug of hot chocolate - a Swan’s Coffee Beans specialty - and places two toasty warm beignets on a white plate, dusting them with confectioner’s sugar. She takes the plate and mug and places them on a tray, which she carries to a guest seated at one of the quaint tables. She salutes him and promises that the whipped cream and cinnamon on hot chocolate are “to  _ die for _ ” before returning to the counter to serve the newcomer.

As she whisks together the pumpkin purée along with the milky mixture in the heating saucepan, Emma reminiscences over her days after graduating from Towson University with a business degree, not knowing where, when, or how to begin her future. Thoughts of opening a coffee shop turned from a vague idea into a dream, an ambition, one she was determined to have come true. It took about four years to work and scrape enough money to purchase a run-down store in the pretty area of the Inner Harbor in Baltimore before an additional year was spent renovating the entire place indoors and out until it was time to start the business at the end of May. 

Nine months later, and her coffee shop is the most appraised in the city. 

By the time she hands the pumpkin-spice latte to the customer, it is lunch hour, so she shoos everybody out and flips the sign hanging on the door from  **OPEN** to  **COME BACK LATER** . She then sets to work tidying the shop: wiping the tables with a washcloth and mopping the floor of the cafe before heading towards the kitchen, where she washes the dirty dishware, rinses the coffee makers, wipes the counter, and mops the floor. Untying her apron and hanging it on a peg on the wall next to the black visor she wears at work, she shrugs on a red leather jacket and leaves the shop through the front door, locking it.

She drives home in her yellow Bug as fast as the speed limit will permit her, for her best friend and coworker, Elsa Arendelle, has finally returned from her sister’s wedding in Switzerland and she cannot wait to see her and hear all about the ceremony. She arrives at the apartment building where she lives, parking the vehicle in front and dashing inside, pressing quickly on the buttons of the elevator. The elevator takes her to the fourteenth floor, where she walks down the corridor until she enters her residence, a cozy little loft, taking off the jacket and throwing it on an armchair. She heads to the bathroom and throws the soiled jeans and long-sleeved black shirt into the hamper and takes a prolonged shower, enjoying the feeling of the hot water splattering on her body.

When the shower terminates, she first dries her hair with the towel before fully drying it with a blow-drier. She then ties the blonde waves up into a ponytail, taking care to leave a few tendrils out to frame her face. She dresses into a pair of black leggings and a yellow Towson hoodie, slipping into her black Nike shoes and ties the laces together. When she finishes, she takes a look at her watch and realizes that she is going to be late if she doesn’t leave anytime soon, so she slings her casual black crossbody purse over her shoulder and leaves the apartment, locking the door.

Emma directs the Bug to Miss Shirley’s Café at the Inner Harbor, one of the most beloved restaurants in Baltimore, as well as her favorite meeting place with her best friend. When she rolls up to the color-block building, she spots said best friend seated at one of the outdoor tables with a large orange umbrella propped up to offer shade for the table. She parks the car about a block away from the restaurant and decides to walk, stuffing her hands into the large pocket of the sweatshirt to keep them warm. She arrives at Miss Shirley’s and saunters to the table where her friend continues to sit, staring at her phone screen before she lifts her head to scan into the crowd. 

“Elsa!” Emma calls out, and the platinum-blonde woman instantly faces the direction from where she heard the voice, her blue eyes beginning to widen and sparkle like sapphires.

“Emma!” she exclaims as she jumps up from the table to throw her arms around Emma. “I missed you so much!”

“Hey, Snow Queen,” Emma teases, reciprocating Elsa’s embrace. “How was Switzerland?”

“The snow is so beautiful!” Elsa gushes, “I miss it already.”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “Seriously? It’s not even that cold here and I already want winter to end.”

“The cold never bothered me anyway,” Elsa points out, and both ladies laugh as they link arms and enter the restaurant. They are escorted to a booth and given menus before a waitress with a name tag  _ Astrid _ attached to the pocket of her black polo shirt arrives, introducing herself and asking what drinks they desire. The twosome order Miss Mimosa cocktails, surfing through the menu when Astrid walks away to the bar.

“How was Anna’s wedding?” Emma questions as her eyes skim down through the pages of the carte du jour.

“Anna was so nervous before the ceremony; I thought she was going to faint!” Elsa answers, “but when she entered the church and saw Kristoff waiting for her at the altar, she instantly calmed down. She did so well.” Elsa smiles fondly, thinking of her younger sister.

“I’m really happy for them,” Emma says before asking incredulously, “Can you believe that the little girl we used to babysit together when we were ten is now married?”

The platinum-blonde girl sighs. “Time passes by so quickly.” The conversation dies down as they continue reading the menu before Astrid returns to ask if they are ready to order. They both decide to go with the lunch combos: Emma ordering a half of the Grandpa’s pulled BBQ pork grilled cheese sandwich, and Elsa settling for a half of Nana’s grilled cheese with applewood-smoked bacon and tomato, both adding in their own orders the lemon dill shrimp salad as their appetizer.

“Your hoodie is bringing back memories,” Elsa smiles after Astrid leaves with a fully-written notepad and the assurance that she’ll bring out the salads as soon as possible.

Emma grins widely as she smooths out imaginary wrinkles on the yellow sweatshirt. “I just  _ had _ to wear it,” she jests. “Let’s relive our Towson days.”

They fall into a protracted conversation of college recollections, steering from falling asleep in the college library at two in the morning - the four or five cups of espresso from Starbucks not being enough to keep them awake - to the classes they took together (since they both minored in English literature). Talk of Elsa’s major - international studies - has them return to the subject of Switzerland, and Elsa proceeds to give an account of the time she went skiing and was almost caught in an avalanche of snow. The t ête-à-tête pauses when Astrid returns, setting the two plates down on the table before leaving to serve a table of a family of four.

“I kept thinking of  _ Heidi  _ while I was in the Alps,” the traveler admits. “That was our favorite book to read when we were kids.”

Emma bobs her head. “I used to read it so much. I guess I always understood Heidi because I felt like her. Ingrid reminded me of Heidi’s grandfather when she first took me in,” she confesses. Ingrid, the aunt of Elsa and Anna, had taken Emma in when she was fifteen years old after she had been bounced back and forth between foster homes more than anybody could count. 

“But Manhattan isn’t like the mountains,” her best friend teases.

“Frankfurt is,” she deadpans playfully and they both laugh over the fond memories of the book.

“Let’s go to Barnes and Noble tomorrow. I missed shopping for books with you while I was in Heidi’s homeland.”

“Tomorrow,” Emma suggests. “I can take the morning off.”

They make it a “date,” deciding to meet at nine o’clock tomorrow morning in front of the bookstore, Elsa deciding to return to work after their social engagement. They relapse into a comfortable silence, drinking their cocktails until Astrid shows up with the sandwiches and an extra stash of napkins, wishing them a happy meal before she disappears. 

The two dig into their food, Emma moaning happily when she bites into the barbecue sourdough sandwich. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s been to Miss Shirley’s, probably about two to three months ago, just a little before Elsa departed for her trip. The sandwiches prove to be so abundant that when Astrid comes back to ask how the meal is going, the women request for two boxes to pack the leftovers. After paying for the meal and leaving a generous tip for their waitress, they stop by at The Fractured Prune to eat some doughnuts for dessert. They purchase their own doughnuts and return to Swan’s Coffee Beans to eat them while Emma serves newcomers that continuously flow into the shop. Elsa takes care of the guests seated at the tables while Emma remains at the counter to operate the coffee machines.

When it is time to close for the night, they follow their daily cleaning routine and lock the shop before Emma drops Elsa off at her complex and drives to her own building, falling asleep the instant her head touches her pillow. She awakens a few minutes before the alarm goes off, so she continues to lie in bed until the incessant beeping commences. She swipes the screen on her phone and turns the alarm off, getting up and padding to the bathroom in her bare feet. She goes through her morning routine, washing her face with some of the Neutrogena pink grapefruit facial wash and brushing her teeth. She returns to her bedroom and rummages through her drawers until she finds a pair of jeans and a cream-white pullover, which she combines with her trusty black knee-high boots. 

Elsa is waiting inside Barnes and Nobles by the time she arrives, and they first head to the Starbucks area, Emma purchasing a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon while Elsa chooses a white chocolate mocha. They take their time browsing through the aisles and Emma picks up a copy of  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ , remembering her foster mother’s recommendation. 

She pays for the book and returns to Starbucks to order two croissants while Elsa remains in the magazine area, leafing through the periodicals. Emma begins to read Fitzgerald’s work, instantly falling in love with his vivid and brilliant descriptions of life during the Roaring Twenties. Her friend comes back with a newly-purchased crocheting magazine, and they continue to eat the croissants and read in comfortable silence.

They stop by at Chipotle to purchase crispy corn tacos with chips and salsa for lunch, which they take back to Swan’s Coffee Beans to consume. They manage to eat everything before the first flow of customers enter, and it is back to the same working routine as the day before: Elsa carries the orders to people seated at the tables while Emma lingers at the counter. They spruce up the café after closing hour before heading over to Emma’s place, Elsa deciding to spend the night. They order Chinese takeouts and settle down in the armchairs while Emma scrolls through her Netflix queue before selecting  _ Merlin _ . They manage to watch the first four episodes of the first season before Emma remarks that she is “craving cinnamon rolls so much. Let’s go make some.” The television show is forgotten as they transition to the kitchen and Emma pulls up a simple recipe for cinnamon rolls.

While they gather together the ingredients, Elsa makes a revelation. “I’m deciding to go back to school so I can study to become a teacher. When I was in Switzerland, everyone spoke in Italian and it made me think of my Italian classes back in high school and the competitions I won. I thought maybe I can teach Italian at one of the high schools here. I’d really like to do that.”

Emma smiles widely and pauses the combining of the butter and flour mixtures so she can embrace her friend excitedly. “That would be so awesome! You always wanted to do something with kids. And you even passed the AP exam with a five! I think you should go for it.”

“I finally know what I want to do. It took a while, but I figured it out.”

“I’m so happy for you. You’ll love teaching Italian, I know you will.”

They exchange smiles as they continue, Emma turning on her phone to put a music playlist on shuffle. “Forest” streams from the device and she sets it down on the kitchen table so that none of the sticky dough smears the screen. The music list shifts from Twenty One Pilots to various other music groups, concluding with “Somewhere in Neverland” by All Time Low, which they dance to as Emma loosely covers the soft rolls in the pie dish with a sheet of aluminum foil. She leaves the rolls to rise for about an hour and twenty minutes; the two rinse their hands of the dough and return to the living room to continue watching  _ Merlin _ . When an episode nears its end, Emma checks the cinnamon rolls and sees that they have doubled in size. She removes the aluminum foil and puts the pie dish in the oven, setting a time for half an hour. She does return to the kitchen after fifteen minutes to replace the covering on the dish so that the rolls wouldn’t brown heavily.

Elsa joins Emma in the kitchen to assist with the making of the glaze out of powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and cream. When the timer beeps, Elsa removes the hot dish from the oven and leaves it to rest on a rack to cool. The rolls are glazed as soon as their temperature decreases. Two out of the eleven cinnamon rolls are consumed and Emma places a cloth over them so they’d stay fresh. They continue to watch the fantastical show, but during the ninth episode, they fall fast asleep with fluffy blankets wrapped tightly around their bodies, the clock reading a little past three-thirty in the morning.

They wake up after the alarm has rung, feeling sore from their sleeping positions in the armchairs. Emma allows Elsa to utilize the bathroom first and to borrow some of her clothes. While the platinum-blonde prepares a breakfast of Nutella crepes in the kitchen, Emma takes her turn in the bathroom. They arrive at Swan’s Coffee Beans, setting to work the instant Emma unlocks the door. Countless customers rush in and out, and Emma attempts not to mix up orders and get them all wrong, mainly because she is still exhausted and sore from the night before. She does sober up after quaffing down two large cups of strong, black coffee, the adrenaline of the caffeine running through her veins.

Just as she hands a blonde roast to a woman, a newcome saunters up to the counter. “Large black coffee without milk nor sugar,” he speaks wearily with a British accent.

At the sound of the  _ rather beautiful _ pronunciation, Emma lifts her head from the screen to regard the customer closely. His raven-black hair falls over his forehead and her hand itches to push it back for him. Blue, blue eyes sparkle back at her and she almost gasps in surprise because they are  _ so _ blue. His mouth suddenly falls open in a sort of stupefied expression as if he is pleased at the sight of her. She’s never seen a man - especially a handsome one - look at her the way he is looking at her right now.

She clears her throat to gather her wits. “Your order, sir?” 

The blue eyes continue to gaze straight into her green ones as he asks whether the black coffee is strong enough to “awaken a sleepy bloke like myself.”

She smiles to herself. It isn’t everyday that she meets someone who speaks as if it is still the nineteenth century. “Pretty strong,” she responds, blushing when he smiles softly at her.  “It woke me up.”

“Then I’ll order one for myself,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t desire sugar or milk with the coffee, lass.”

_ Lass _ , she thinks as she prepares the machine. She turns around to peer at him and realizes that he really is tired. “Rough night?” she questions as she crosses her arms and leans back, eyeing him all the while.

He lifts his head to meet her stare with his own. “Aye. The blue crabs are dying, but I think I discovered the reason why. As wonderful and relieving as it was to make the discovery, it did keep me up all night.”

She tilts her head to the side in confusion, not understanding what he is referring to her, but then she remembers the marine biologists from the Institute of Marine and Environmental Technology visiting her shop and conversing over the strange unknown cause of the death of the aquatic animals. She’s never seen him before, though.

As if he reads her mind, he says, “My coworkers recommended your coffeeshop. They say your coffee is magnificent and delicious. And I could really quaff a large caffeinated drink that will waken me.”

Emma interrupts the conversation to turn around and tend to his order. Somehow forgetting that he asked for purely black coffee, she pours milk into the cup until the liquid turns into a sandy pigment. “Here you go,” she announces, placing the lid on the cup and handing it to the outstretched hand of the biologist before she proceeds to tap on the screen. “That will be-”

“Pardon, love.” She raises her head from the screen to watch him remove the lid and stare at the beverage. “But I believe I requested for black coffee, strictly without milk?”

She colors, biting her lip nervously. Of all orders she could have gotten wrong, she messes up his. She is ready to apologize profusely and prepare a new cup of coffee  _ without milk _ , but there is something about the way he looks at her and the way he says, “love,” that seems to taunt her just a bit. So she glares at him and snaps, “What are you going to do about it, fight me in a duel? Do you have your sword ready with you?”

“Oh, lass.” He shakes his head and bends over until he meets her gaze squarely. “Trust me, I do have one. When I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it.” He concludes the innuendo with a sultry wink and a slow swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip before he straightens his back, his steady gaze never leaving hers.

Her green eyes widen and she finds it almost unbelievable that someone so exhausted could have flirted heavily with her. Instead, she demands that he pay for the order she mistakened. 

“Bossy,” he teases, amusement circling in his eyes as he clicks his tongue.

“Pay up,” she commands so forcefully, almost grinning in triumph when she watches him pull out his wallet in defeat.

“It was a pleasure meeting you... _ Emma _ ,” he declares, reading her name off the tag attached to the front of her black turtleneck sweater. 

She splutters, incredulous that he continues to stand there with that infuriatingly  _ hot _ Cheshire-Cat grin plastered on his face. “Good day,” she glowers, not bothering to ask for his name.

(She tries to ignore how  _ beautiful _ her name sounds rolling off his tongue.)

* * *

 

_ What a glorious lass _ , Killian thinks as he exits Swan’s Coffee Beans, watching the door close before clambering into the black Maserati parked at the curb. He places the coffee cup in the cup holder and starts the car, directing it to the institute.

He leaves the car in the parking lot and enters the glass building, nodding a greeting to a group of marine biologists huddled together in a large group. He ascends the grand staircase and takes a sip of the coffee, grinning in approval. Despite the added milk, the beverage is quite delicious.  _ Her name is Emma _ , he thinks with the goofy grin still plastered on his face as he walks down a corridor until he stops at a door and opens it, revealing one of the countless faculty closets in the institute.

He changes from his black trenchcoat into a white lab coat, taking care to stuff the pockets with latex gloves. Leaving the closet with his coffee cup, he meanders down another hallway until he reaches another closed door. He enters it to find himself in a laboratory. “Morning, mate,” he says to one of the men decked in the lab coats.

“Good morning. I see you took my advice, Jones,” the man grins. “How’s the coffee?”

“Stellar, Robin,” Killian responds. “I believe I will be fully awake now.” He doesn’t mention that the barista had spoiled his order, nor that she happens to be a  _ gorgeous  _ barista.

But he does believe the coffee is stellar.

Robin interrupts his web of thoughts by clapping his hands, catching the attention of the other scientists in the lab. “Thanks to Killian’s hard work last night, we now know the reason for the rapid deaths of the blue crabs,” he announces, “They are afflicted with blue crab reovirus. Fortunately, this virus is not harmful to us humans.”

Killian nods his head. “Aye. They are undergoing much stress while shedding their shells, and that stress is causing the disease.”

“Should we move the crabs to new tanks?” a blonde woman queries.

“I think that will be a wise choice,” Killian replies. “We need to readjust the temperature of the water, which is changing drastically in their current homes. The bio filters will have to be changed as well.”

The blonde bobs her head, bun shifting along with the movement. “I’ll go fill up the new tanks with lukewarm water,” she suggests.

“I’ll help you, Tink,” somebody pipes up and the two leave the laboratory.

Killian takes it upon himself to record the morning observations, taking a sheet of paper and a clipboard from a drawer. He passes through a doorless entrance, finding himself in a large, airy room full of tanks, each containing marine creatures of all sorts. He cruises through the room until he arrives at a set of water tanks housing the crabs. He bends down and eyes the creatures squatting placidly at the bottom of the tank, staying completely still sans the eyes blinking and the pincers reaching out above their heads.

He continues to watch them before he scrawls down in neat penmanship various commentaries about the animals. He pauses writing when he feels a hand clap gently over his shoulder.

“You should go home and rest,” a voice advises. “You look exhausted.” Killian straightens his back and turns around to meet the worried gaze of Eric, another of his coworkers and his closest friend.

“I’m fine, mate,” he reassures his friend. “I drank some coffee this morning. Besides, I can’t fret about myself when these poor little beasts are dying.”

“But sometimes you have to put yourself first. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Aye, Eric.”

“Just don’t forget that if Ariel were here, she would drag you all the way to your house and tuck you into bed herself.”

Killian chuckles at the mention of Eric’s wife. “She does take good care of us both.”

Eric grins widely. “Yes, that she does.”

The men are silent as Killian continues writing down the behavior of the crabs before he clicks the black ballpoint pen off and replaces it in the pocket of the lab coat. 

“You did wonders,” Eric says. “Regina is impressed.”

“The Evil Queen? Impressed with my work?” the raven-haired man jests and they laugh. “That’s good to hear,” he adds, scratching his ear nervously.

The “Evil Queen” herself makes an appearance, greeting the two biologists courteously. “Are you planning to host another workshop now that we know the reason for the happenings, Mr. Jones?” she asks KIllian.

“It would be a good idea to inform the people of the shedding and the virus,” he responds. “The watermen especially should know about this.”

Regina hands over a thin packet to him and swipes a wisp of short black hair from her face. “Fill out these forms. I believe three weeks from today is a good date to hold the workshop.”

“Yes, Madam Mills,” Killian says meekly and the tall, elegant woman smiles shortly.

“I am honored to have such a hard-working scientist willing to give up his own time to dedicate himself to the pressing cases here at the IMET. We’re proud of you, Mr. Jones.”

Killian bends his head with a shy smile and another nervous scratch of his ear. “I do what I can, Madam Mills.”

She nods her head once with a tight smile before clicking away in her black heels, stopping once to allow Robin to wrap an arm affectionately around her shoulders.

“She’s hard to please,” Eric comments as the two men watch their friend and his fiancée exit the room. 

“Robin was always good at winning people’s hearts,” Killian says quietly.

“Maybe it’s true love,” his companion suggests.

Somehow, the words  _ true love _ have Killian thinking of Emma.  _ Don’t be ridiculous _ , a voice sounding annoyingly like Liam’s echos in his head. He shakes his head to rid thoughts of her and reverts his attention to the tanks once more before exiting the room with Eric. He seats himself at the table and takes out the pen from his pocket to fill out the papers. When he is finished with that, he finds Regina and gives the packet back to her before setting to work in the laboratory. He assists with the task of tying the pincers of the crabs together with a sort of ribbon-like tape and then transferring the marine creatures into their new homes, checking twice to reassure himself that the temperature of the water is adjusted to their liking.

When it is time for lunch, Killian retrieves his tote from the faculty closet and eats with Eric and Tink. The vegetable salad with quinoa and the Hawaiian veggie burger seem so appetizing to the man who has not eaten since the day before, and by the time he consumes all of his food, he feels so full that his weariness returns, causing his eyelids to droop heavily. When his coworkers begin to worry again, he reassures them that is is fine, but his body betrays him when he puts his head down for a moment and closes his eyes, almost slipping into a dreamless sleep. He attempts to stifle several yawns, but Eric advises that he go home and rest. When Killian objects again, Regina herself gives him the rest of the afternoon off, firmly stating that she cannot “have sleeping scientists around in her building.” Killian thanks his boss and friends and shrugs on his coat, rubbing his eyes and attempting to stay awake just a little more so he can drive the twenty-five minutes to his house in Rosedale without nodding off on the road.

He manages to arrive home safely,  _ home _ being a rustic yet modern-looking house with three stories, the brick material of the second story contrasting wonderfully with the white material of the first. Two large trees frame the building, causing the entire plot to look aesthetically pleasing, as if a marine biologist truly does dwell there. He unlocks the black, oaken door and opens it, a large golden retriever immediately bounding out to his feet with a happy bark, wagging his tail and panting in excitement at the return of his owner.

“Afternoon, Smee,” Killian mumbles sleepily, cracking a small smile as he scratches the back of Smee’s ears. “S’been a long day, mate. Was yours any better?”

Smee closes his milk-chocolate brown eyes and lifts his head higher as Killian continues petting him.

“I did meet a pretty lass today, though,” Killian whispers. “Hair as golden as your fur. And such beautiful green, green eyes. She’s bloody glorious.”

Smee nods his head as if agreeing with him. Killian chuckles as he enters the house with the dog following right behind his heels. He shrugs off his trenchcoat and leaves it on a hanger in the hall closet. Toeing his black loafers off and leaving them by the front door, he pads to the kitchen in his socked feet to pour treats into a bowl for Smee. After scratching behind Smee’s ears again, he walks slowly up the stairs, holding onto the banister so he doesn’t lose his balance. In his bedroom, he strips off his clothes until he is clothed only in an undershirt and boxers. The instant his head touches the pillow, he falls fast asleep.

He doesn’t waken until five o’clock in the morning. It is still dark out and he doesn’t have to get ready for work for another two hours, but he can’t sleep because he isn’t so tired anymore. Instead, he decides to walk Smee around the block as a compensation for skipping yesterday afternoon’s walk.

There are a few individuals out in the street, and while Smee runs ahead to sniff at every bloody bush and street-lamp post they pass by, Killian follows behind with his hands stuffed in the pockets of the black peacoat, the grey woolen scarf shielding the lower portion of his face from the chilly breeze blowing his way. Thoughts of the blonde barista fill his head again and he colors as he ponders over the rather  _ interesting _ dreams he had of her. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. When he reaches a street intersection, he whistles to Smee, “Come on, mate. We’re going home!” The golden retriever bounds back to his owner and arrives at the house before Killian does. The time has barely passed, just a mere third of an hour, so he decides to make breakfast; he gathers ingredients to prepare a spinach and feta-cheese omelette, but refrains from making coffee. He’d rather purchase his morning drink at Swan’s Coffee Beans, hoping to talk to a certain someone again. 

Just as he finishes transferring the omelette from the pan to a plate with a spatula, the phone rings. He sets the plate on the countertop and the spatula back in the pan before looking at the caller ID. With a large grin, he answers. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be asleep, Liam?” he says immediately, his grin only widening when he hears his brother chuckle.

“Maybe I just want to talk to my little brother,” Liam deadpans, and Killian can practically  _ see _ his brother’s smug smirk on the kitchen wall..

“ _ Younger  _ brother,” he corrects, taking a fork and knife from the drawer housing the silverware before sitting down at the table with the omelette. He remains on the phone for about thirty minutes, talking in between bites. He does restrain from mentioning Emma, no matter how much he wants to. He really doesn’t need his brother teasing him for admiring a barista.

It is just past seven o’clock by the time he concludes the phone call with Liam and consumes the omelette, running the dirty dishes through warm water before placing them in the dishwasher. He proceeds to shower and dress for work, meticulously tying a black tie around his neck and attaching gold cufflinks to the cuffs on the sleeves of his white shirt. He stares at his reflection as he throws on a navy-blue blazer, buttoning it in the center. He stops by at his office room downstairs first to grab his briefcase, and then at the kitchen to leave Smee enough food and water to have for the day until he returns from the institute.

By the time Killian leaves the house, it is ten minutes to eight and the traffic is pretty leisurely this morning. He arrives at the coffeeshop just as an individual exits it, parking in the same spot as the day before. He glimpses at the mirror and takes a deep breath before entering the shop, the tinkle of the door chimes and the aroma of the freshly-brewed coffee welcoming him in. His heart nearly skips a beat when he notices the pretty smaragdine-eyed woman operating the coffee machines.

“Good morning, how may I help you today?” she says, turning around to give him her full attention. Her eyes suddenly widen as she looks back at him, mouth falling open. “You again!”

“It pleases me to see that you remember me, love,” he greets her with an amused smirk. “Good morning to you, too.”

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “If you’re here to flirt, then get out.”

“Bossy,” he teases, clicking his tongue. “I am here for just a beverage,” he adds. “A large black coffee.”

She taps on the screen before turning to prepare the coffee, taking a cup from the stack and positioning it underneath the spout of the machine. He watches intently, focusing on the way her blonde ponytail swings from side to side almost buoyantly and the way her arse looks in those perfectly tight jeans of hers.

When she eventually turns back around to hand him the closed hot cup, he takes it from her and opens the lid, a small grin crossing his face when he sees that his black coffee is, in fact,  _ not  _ black. “Did you confuse my order again, love?” he queries, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she states innocently. “I forgot you didn’t want milk in your coffee.”

He scrutinizes her, hiding the smirk chiseled on his face. He  _ knows _ she is lying. And it surprises him that he knows that. It’s almost as if she is something of an open book to him; he can read her so well.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s bad form to wrong a man’s coffee order,” he says before extending his hand out to her. “Since I will be frequenting your coffeeshop more often, you might as well get to know my name. Killian Jones. A pleasure, lass.”

She looks down at his outstretched hand warily before hesitantly touching it with hers. “Emma. Emma Swan.”

Killian clutches her hand, not missing the sudden jolt of electricity he swears he feels when her fingertips linger on his. He knows she felt it too because when he lifts his gaze from their joined hands to her face, he notices that her eyes have widened as she looks down. She immediately snatches her hand away and immediately he misses her warm touch.  _ A guarded lass _ , he tells himself as he continues to gaze at her. She colors and lowers her head, her eyelashes seeming to lower as far down as to her cheek.

“How are the crabs?” she suddenly asks, and he almost jumps at the question. Who would’ve expected her to remember their conversation from the other day?

“I would hope they are doing better than usual,” he responds. “The team transferred the poor beasts into new tanks yesterday.”

“Speaking of yesterday,” Emme begins, and his heart begins to increase its beating. _ What will she say? _ “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Aye, love. My boss was kind enough to relieve me of my duties so I could go home and sleep like a cat,” he answers. It surprises that that she really remembered most of their first interaction. He also wonders why he had grown so excitedly.  _ I am not a lad with a crush on a schoolgirl _ , he chides himself.

“So why are you buying black coffee again? It’s so bitter.” He tries not to smile at the adorable way she wrinkles her nose. “I like my coffee with lots of sugar.”

“Sugar defeats the purpose of caffeine, Swan,” he chuckles, hoping that she’d smile back.

She does, even though the smirk is more wry than genuine. She takes the proffered money from his hand and hands him some change in return. Before he can leave, a platinum-blonde woman with bright blue eyes joins them, asking excitedly, “Is that the hot British dude that flirted with you yesterday?”

“Elsa!” Emma exclaims, and this time, Killian cannot prevent the wide Cheshire-Cat grin spreading across his face. “Shush!”

“So now I’m the ‘hot British dude,’ love?” he can’t help but ask, the grin never leaving his face as he watches her cheeks color brightly. He does like to see her blush.

“Quiet,” she mumbles, glaring at her friend until her friend takes the hint and retreats to the kitchen, stifling her laughter.

Emma stands awkwardly, crossing her arms before she takes a deep breath and hands him a receipt. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” she inquires.

“Do you want me too?” he asks teasingly, noticing her cheeks flame again. Bloody hell, he’ll never get tired of that.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she replies, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Perhaps I would,” he whispers in earnest, seeing in her eyes the inner battle she is combatting. And it seems as if she wants to say something back, something  _ honest  _ and  _ vulnerable  _ maybe.

But instead of continuing the discussion, she throws a polite smile his way and wishes him a good day. He wishes to stay longer, but he mustn’t be late to work, so he leaves the shop with a short wave and gets into the car, driving as fast as possible to the institute without exceeding the speed limit. When he arrives to work in time, he is greeted enthusiastically by Robin, Eric, and Tink, who are satisfied to hear that he slept well and is ready to tend to the crabs. 

And so his days pass on in a routine he doesn’t tire of. He purchases his morning coffee at Swan’s Coffee Beans, spends the majority of the morning and  the afternoon at the institute, and then returns home to walk Smee and enjoy his night to himself.

Despite his caffeine preference, he doesn’t mind that Emma purposely adds milk to his order. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he is quite enamored by the feisty and beautiful blonde lass.

Saturday and Sunday are the two days he doesn’t have work, so he usually spends the weekend with Eric and Ariel on his beloved boat, the Jolly Roger. They go sailing and picnicking on deck, and it is during these boat trips that Killian is reminded of just how much he cherishes the water. 

And then Monday rolls around and he falls back in the pattern of stopping by at the coffeeshop before heading to work. He can see that Emma is guarded and that she has walls as tall as skyscrapers around her heart because of the tough things she has been through. She hasn’t revealed anything vulnerable to him, but he hasn’t either. He is patient when conversing with her because he truly does want to get to know her. After all, he’s recognized another lost soul in her, the same soul that looks back at him when he stares in the mirror.

He is horrified, however, to discover that she is a Yankees fan.

_ “The blo-bloody Yankees?” Killian splutters in exasperation. “How can you live in Baltimore, yet root for the New York gits?” _

_ She merely shrugs her shoulder and tries to hide her blushing face, but he catches the amused smile on her face. “I grew up in Manhattan. Do you really expect me to change my team so quickly? To a rival team?” _

_ “For the four years I’ve dwelt in Baltimore, I have been a devout fan of the Orioles. How can you not like the Orioles? They are little birds with breathtakingly colorful plumage!” _

_ Her smile increases only ever so much as she begins to laugh, a laugh that sounds so musical to his ears, making him long to make her smile and laugh like that more often. _

And then one day, about two weeks after their first meeting, while Killian waits patiently to the side for his beverage and some cranberry orange scones, he ponders over the upcoming workshop and all the hours he has spent with the crabs and the data he has gathered through research and observations. Going through the mental guest list of other marine biologists from neighboring states and the watermen from the Chesapeake Bay, he finds his thoughts transitioning to Emma.

That’s when he realizes.  _ Maybe I could invite Emma to the workshop. _ And part of him wants her to be there. He might even get the chance to give Emma a private tour of the institute.

When she eventually returns with his coffee and scones, he leans across the counter and says, “I have a proposition for you, Swan.”

“What proposition would that be?” Swan queries.

“You have wronged my coffee ever since we met,” he begins, pausing to admire the triumphant smirk chiseled on her face. “To repay me for that, I propose that you attend my workshop. It’s next week and it will be hosted at the IMET.”

She crosses her arms. “Is this your way of asking me out?” she questions defiantly.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he gasps. “I would never use a workshop as a way of asking you to go out with me. If we were to have a first date, it’d be for a much better and more  _ romantic  _ occasion than this.”

Her eyes widen and he holds his breath as he watches the miscellaneous emotions fleeting through them. In order to appease her, he leans over the counter and whispers, “Emma. If you do show up, you will make a handsome bloke like me happy.” He concludes with the heated gaze he knows that affects her because her cheeks suddenly redden prettily and her eyes look down at the floor, long eyelashes downcast as she bites her lip nervously.

He takes the coffee and scones from the counter and leaves the shop, taking a deep breath. When he releases it, he isn’t surprised to discover that his heart is pounding loudly and rapidly in his chest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Here’s a new update! Line breaks mean different POV. And you guys might love sea otters after reading this chapter ;-)**

* * *

 Emma stares up at the white tent-like roof of the Institute of Marine and Environmental Technology before turning around to look out at the harbor. The water moves slowly, but does not crash against the pier. She walks along the red sidewalk before she turns back to the institute. She holds the piping hot coffee cup tightly in her black-leather gloved hand and stares up at the trademark fish on top of the doorway before entering the building, greeted by the sight of white and blue.

The front lobby is very brightly lit with large glass windows fixated on the white ceiling. The floor is made of white tile containing enormous swirls of blue. A secretary is seated at the front desk, to whom Emma nods a greeting as she walks past until she pauses in the center of the lobby and spins slowly so she can perceive the lobby in every view. When she finally looks at the grand staircase accentuated by the white-and-blue steps and grey banisters, her heart suddenly jumps at the sight of Killian donned in a lab coat, descending the steps with a clipboard, accompanied by another person also wearing a lab coat.

_He looks good_ , she thinks, flushing as she continues to gaze at him. She watches him wave his hands animatedly to his companion before he grins shortly and shakes his head in amusement. He and his friend separate and it is then that he sees Emma, his mouth falling open in an inaudible gasp before he approaches her.

“Swan.” He pronounces her nickname so happily she can’t help but crack a wide smile at the way it comes dancing off his tongue. “You came.”

She merely shrugs her shoulders. “Of course. The workshop clearly means a lot to you and you wanted me to come, so here I am. And here’s a free coffee,” she adds, handing him the coffee cup.

He lifts the cup as if to toast her. “A mighty thanks,” he says before taking a sip, his blue eyes widening his surprise. He uncovers the lid and looks into the cup. “The coffee i-is _black_ ,” he stutters, so surprised that she can’t help but roll her eyes playfully.

“Might as well get your order right. We’re friends now,” she explains, avoiding his fixed scrutiny as she looks down at the toes of her booted heels.

“Aye, we are,” he responds so softly that she thinks she doesn’t hear him. She quickly changes the subject since they seem to be treading in dangerous waters.

“Where are you hosting the workshop?”

“Right.” He nervously scratches the tip of his right ear, which has turned red. “This way, love.” He turns back to the staircase and ascends it, looking back behind him and beckoning with his head.

“Sorry.” Emma colors and ducks her head, her blonde hair covering her reddened cheeks as she follows right behind. He grins in response and sips from the cup before continuing on ahead, she right at his heels. They saunter down a hallway in comfortable silence and she admires his figure: broad shoulders, body tall enough to emphasize the perfectness of the height difference between them. He turns back to look at her, raising his eyebrows in mute question.

She rolls her eyes and points ahead. He smirks again, but the upward curve of his lips fades away as he fixes his heated gaze on her, swiping his tongue slowly over his bottom lip before winking and facing the front again.

She pauses walking to fan herself momentarily and purse her lips, feeling her cheeks flame. _Damn him._

She is aware that her outfit does affect him. _Immensely._ She catches him stare at her more often than not, his eyes lingering on the unbuttoned portion of her blouse revealing as much as her bosom as possible while still maintaining its modest look. And the pencil skirt? Hugs her in all the right places. Heeled boots? They help accentuate her height and her long, slender legs.

Two can play a game.

He turns a corner to descend a spiralling staircase, she trailing behind him. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, she sees that he has led her to a dining hall. Tables surrounded by eight chairs are placed evenly around the hall, covered with tablecloths the shade of pastel blue. Papers are placed at each seat. A large screen is propped up at one end of the hall, and behind it is a wall of glowing blocks, adding a nice touch to the very aesthetically-pleasing room.

“Take any seat you desire, Swan,” Killian says, giving her a quick smile before leaving her and joining the group huddled around the screen. She stares at him a little longer than necessary before she chooses to sit at a table farthest away from the scientists seated in the front. More individuals arrive at once, greeting the ones seated at the tables. Emma remains by herself in the back, but she doesn’t mind. She texts Elsa, asking her how it’s going at the coffeeshop without her. Elsa responds with a positive message and Emma smiles before pocketing her phone, waiting patiently for the presentation to begin.

After a short interval of time passes and everyone has been seated, Killian commences the workshop, beginning by introducing the blue crab and describing its habitat and lifestyle. He then speaks of the watermen of the Chesapeake Bay who catch them, emphasizing the fact that the way they handle the crabs is not safe because it causes the crabs to undergo stress that brings about the blue crab reovirus. The slide from the presentations changes, showcasing pictures of blue crabs in the bay held by watermen and then transferred to tanks in the institute.

Emma finds herself paying more attention to _Killian_ than to the actual presentation. She watches the way he speaks and moves his hands, gesturing to the slide and then to himself as he continues to lecture on the marine creatures. She likes how passionate he is about his work and everything involved in it. It makes him more attractive physically _and_ emotionally, if possible.

She internally groans. She shouldn’t be falling for him. Men like Killian tend to have the most flawed and cruel secrets.

Then there is the fact to consider that there _aren’t_ men like him.

The workshop draws to a close and he answers questions and responds to commentaries before the people thank him for the demonstration and exit the hall. Emma lingers behind and waits for the individuals surrounding Killian to conclude their discussions with him, sending a text to Elsa to notify her that the workshop is done. Elsa responds immediately, instructing that she “stay as long as possible to talk to the hot British dude.”

Emma rolls her eyes with a flushed smile, thinking of when Elsa had described him the way Emma did verbatim. Well, it is clear between the two of them that they both want each other. But she is not ready to take that further step. He seems to know that, so he is patient, willing to wait for her to open up and accept him as something more than a friend.

Said hot British dude approaches her when they are the only persons remaining in the room. “What did you think of my presentation, Swan?” he questions almost shyly, nervously scratching the tip of his right ear. (She has come to like the endearing act.)

“I never learned so much about crabs before,” she admits with a small smile and he grins widely in response. “You really like it here, huh?”

He bends his head in compliance. “Aye. I have always loved the water. I’m very fortunate to be able to study its world and its creatures.”

She can’t help but smile again, noting again how enthusiastic he is about his career. He rocks back and forth on his heels as he continues to look down at her before he asks, “Would you like your very own personal tour of the building? Or do you have to return to your coffeeshop?”

At first, she is about to decline his invitation and use work as an excuse, but Elsa’s advice comes ringing back to her. _Stay as long as possible to talk to the hot British dude._

“I can stay longer. Elsa’s taking care of my shop,” she says to him. “So, free tour?”

He attempts to hide his joyful smile behind his hand as he runs his fingers up and down his stubble. “Aye, free tour for the barista.” He ushers her to the staircase and they ascend it, retracing their steps to the top of the grand staircase.

Instead of going down the steps, Killian leads her down the hallway until they reach a closed door. Opening it, he ushers her through it and she finds herself in a laboratory.

“This is where I work, love,” he explains. Two black tables are set against the wall in opposite directions, equipment packed nicely on one while the other is occupied by two marine biologists observing something through a microscope. They lift their heads to wave at Killian, who waves back enthusiastically before he whispers to Emma, “The lass is Tink and the other is Eric, my coworkers. Bloody brilliant, they are.”

She smiles at the way he speaks of his coworkers as if they are more family than mere friends. She follows him through the lab to a doorless entrance leading to a room full of water tanks. She widens her eyes in pleasant surprise at the sight of the animals in the tanks.

“Is this an aquarium?” she questions and he chuckles.

“No, Swan. Just a second home for the poor creatures.” He beckons with his head. “Come, I’ll bring you to the crabs.”

She follows him, staring down at the miscellaneous fish and seahorses in their tiny aquatic reservoirs. She is impressed with the way the biologists have decorated the tanks so the animals will feel more at home.

Killian stops walking. “Here they are,” he announces, tapping lightly on the glass as he bends down to scrutinize the crabs. Emma follows his lead, eyeing the crustaceans reaching out with their pincers opening repeatedly.

“They have that reovirus you were talking about?” she questions, shifting her gaze to Killian, who looks at her incredulously.

“It seems you were paying attention to my presentation after all,” he comments. “I am impressed.”

“I came for that, right?” she deadpans, slightly blushing as she quickly reverts her gaze back to the crabs squatting at the bottom of the tank and moving their little feet lazily about. He does _not_ need to know just how much attention she was giving _him_.

But she forgets that she is perceptive to him because when she believes he isn’t looking, she sneaks a glance at him and notices the small smirk plastered on his face.

_Damn that bastard._

He clears his throat. “Are you ready to go, Swan? Or would you like to spend more time here?”

“Can I spend some more time here? I want to see all the animals here,” she answers. “I always wondered what it’s like to be a marine biologist at the IMET.”

He grins widely. “Allow me to show you something spectacular. But first, you need a lab coat. Wait right here, love.” He disappears from the room and Emma remains in her original spot, crossing her arms and waiting for Killian to return. He eventually does, holding a lab coat gingerly by the collar, and then holding it out for Emma to shrug her arms through its sleeves. She removes her hair from inside the coat and waits.

“Now what?”

“Now you take these,” Killian responds, handing her a pair of latex gloves. “We handle the animals as carefully as possible and with as many precautions as we can take.”

“I’ll be holding animals?” Emma questions after she puts on the gloves.

“Aye. Follow me,” and he exits the room through a second doorless entrance leading to a small corridor decked with a starfish-patterned carpet and yellow painted walls. She tags behind him, wondering where he is taking her, until he opens a white door and holds it wide open, waiting for her to go through.

“Aren’t you a gentleman,” she smirks wryly.

He bends down and grins. “I’m _always_ a gentleman, love,” he responds, lowering his voice as he winks sultrily.

She flames and stalks past him, her heels clicking rather loudly on the floor. He chuckles and follows behind, the door slamming shut behind them.

“Are you ready?” he questions, eyebrows raised as he looks at her.

“Ready for what?” she can’t help but ask, her eyes widening slightly despite the fact that she knows he won’t _do_ anything to her, even though they’re alone in this mysterious room.

“Just change into these,” he advises, gesturing to the pairs of rainboots lined up against the wall. “Wouldn’t want to ruin those lovely boots of yours.”

She slightly colors but obeys, immediately putting on the rainboots as soon as she unzips her boot heels and leaves them in place of the galoshes now on her feet. She straightens her back to meet Killian’s gaze, which has been transfixed on her. The top of his elf-like ears turn pink at being caught and he turns away with a mumbled, “Follow me, Swan.”

She stifles a silent laugh and walks behind him, stumbling into him when he abruptly stops walking. “What was that for?” she snaps.

He chuckles, a sound she thinks she’ll never tire of hearing. “Are you ready?” he asks, ignoring her question.

“Ready for what?” she deadpans again, raising an eyebrow and concealing her small grin behind her hand. He grins widely and opens the door in front, ushering her in.

Her eyes widen and she gasps as she takes in the replica of a rocky beach, large rocks in the body of water and little pebbles dotting the sandy ground. Numbers of sea otters float in the water, a few padding along the shore on all four paws.

“Killian, I-.” She is speechless. She doesn’t know what to say.

“Are you fond of sea otters?” Killian asks as he stays behind her, so close that if she’d lean back, she’d feel his body press against her. Instead of leaning back, she nods in answer to his question and she hears him laugh. “Come, Swan.”

She turns around to follow him, carefully descending the sloped rocky hill until they are standing on the sand. “How come all these otters are here?” she inquires.

“These otters have been injured in a number of ways,” he answers, “so they were sent here so we can heal them. They were either hurt in the nets of fishermen or caught up in oil spills. This is their reservoir so we can cure them and watch over them before it is guaranteed safe to return them to the wild.”

She pauses her walk to stare again at the furry animals swimming serenely in the blue water. Their fur is sleek from spending much time in the pool, and their paws are resting on their chests as their bodies bob in the water while their heads poke out to observe their surroundings.

“Swan?”

Emma’s gaze shifts from the otters to Killian, who is standing at the bottom of the hill.

“Are you all right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” she responds. “I’m coming.” She attempts to climb down the hill, but some rocks clatter down below her to Killian’s feet, and she remains where she is as she eyes the rocks suspiciously.

Killian extends out a hand. “Do you trust me?” he says so quietly that she doubts she heard the question correctly.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” He repeats his question more clearly, his hand waiting.

She hesitatingly takes it, her fingers curling over his. His hand feels so warm and secure that she continues to hold on to it tightly as she slowly skids over the rocks, collapsing into his arms at the end.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t let go of his arms. “The rocks were in the way.”

“That’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony,” he whispers with a wink, and she instantly flushes as she loosens her hold on him. He presses his lips together to conceal his grin as he leads her along the beach until they are surrounded by several sea otters scurrying around their feet who look up at them, wrinkling their noses.

“Would you like to hold one, Swan?” Killian questions, bending down to pet one of the otters, who closes its eyes and tilts its whiskered face upwards as if in satisfaction.

“Sure,” she responds, her heart beginning to beat faster. _She’s going to hold an otter._

He gently takes the otter in his hands and cradles it in his arms while she watches the otter open and close its mouth in a yawn. Slowly, he shifts his arms from his lap to hers, tenderly letting the otter slip from his hold to Emma’s. Emma continues to sit on her heels as she takes the otter, letting it curl up against her stomach. She feels the reverberation of its purr and it feels strangely comforting. She continues to run her thumb gently on its head, all the while keeping her eyes on it.

When she eventually does look up from the otter to Killian’s face, she notices that he has been staring at her intently, the wonder circling in his cerulean eyes and his lips parted in a sort of silent gasp. She blushes and looks down instantly at the otter again, avoiding his intent glance.

Killian reaches out with his hand to scratch gently at the otter’s stomach, who wriggles in Emma’s arms and makes noises as if giggling. Emma’s small smile widens as she begins to laugh. She sneaks a glance at Killian’s face and sees that a wide grin is plastered on his face, eyes dancing with merriment. He shifts his gaze from the giggling otter to Emma’s eyes, beginning to join in her laughter with his own.

Their laughter soon dies down, but the grins on their faces do not disappear. Eventually, Emma takes the otter and puts it down on the sand. It blinks its little black eyes lazily at her before it slinks to the shoreline, yawning and shaking its head before stepping into the water. Immediately, it flips onto its back and floats away, crossing its little paws in the center as it sniffs at the air with its nose.

“Ready to go, Swan?” When Emma lifts her head upward, she sees that Killian is standing and looking down at her.

“We can go,” she says, pushing back a strand of blonde hair that has fallen over her face. Tucking it behind her ear, she gives one last look at the otters before following Killian back up the rocky hill to the door. Good thing he advised that she put on rain boots. They guarantee much more safety and stability on these grounds than those heels of hers.

Back in the room, the both of them change back into their own shoes and leave the boots where they had found them. They retrace their steps back to the laboratory, but instead of stopping there, Emma follows him to a faculty closet where he takes her lab coat and his and hangs them up in the wardrobe.

“Thank you for coming, love,” Killian states. “It truly means so much to me.”

She smiles. “It’s been a nice day,” she admits, leaning back on her heels. She gazes at him with such a yearning in her eyes, and Killian must be able to read it well because she can hear his breath hitch as the yearning mirrors into _his_ eyes.

It blows her mind that they can both read each other so well.

She is the first to turn away towards the front entrance. “See you tomorrow?” she asks before opening the door.

“If you’ll have me,” Killian responds with a soft grin and she gives him a wry smirk before exiting the institute. Once outside in the cold, she releases a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding in and stares out at the harbor before stalking away to her Bug parked nearby. She drives to Swan’s Coffee Beans, parking in front of the shop before entering it and entering the kitchen through the back in order to leave her overcoat on a peg and put on her visor, tucking her hair again behind her ears.

“How was the workshop?” Elsa says by way of greeting as she places two dirty dishes into the sink.

“Interesting. Killian gave me a private tour of the institute,” Emma replies, unable to prevent the blush spreading over her cheeks when she mentions Killian’s name.

“Emma, you clearly like the guy!” Elsa protests. “Let him ask you out or something. He wants to, but he’s waiting for your consent.”

“Consent? Please. Don’t be ridiculous. He flirts with everything that moves, and baristas are his first bait,” Emma mumbles, wishing she didn’t believe that.

“He doesn’t flirt with _me_ ,” Elsa deadpans and Emma flushes because she _knows_ Elsa is right, she _knows_ Killian really does like her. And maybe she really does like him too. But she can’t take the chance that she is wrong about him.

“You should give him a chance,” her friend recommends before disappearing to serve a couple seated at one of the tables.

* * *

The cold air continues to bite, but Killian does not bother to pull a hoodie over his head; opting for a long-sleeved Henley and a pair of basketball shorts, he leaves the house, Smee already running ahead of him to sniff at the grass in the front yard. After Killian puts on the earbuds and selects his Halestorm playlist, allowing the music to blast through his ears, he begins to jog at his own pace. Eventually, he starts to sprint, breathing heavily as he runs down the street, thoughts of Emma fleeting through his mind.

_Bloody hell._ What was she _thinking_ coming dressed like that to his workshop? As modest as her attire was, it still managed to have the adrenaline rush to his...well. The blouse was buttoned up enough to be considered appropriate, but enough of it was unbuttoned to reveal that porcelain-colored slender neck of hers. That bloody skirt of hers had hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her curves, and those boots had emphasized her height.

He will go insane if he does not make a move on her soon enough.

He rounds a corner and jogs down the street, keeping his eyes on the golden blob of fur ahead of him. When he reaches a street intersection he brings himself to a stop, leaning against the lamp post to catch his breath. He wipes the sweat trickling down his brow with his arm, breathing heavily. He decides to turn back to the house, so he whistles to Smee, “Let’s go, mate!” The dog comes bounding back, his tail wagging and his tongue sticking out his mouth while he pants.

Killian jogs slowly back to the house as his thoughts transition from her outfit - he knows for _sure_ she had decided to tease him - to the otters. He thinks of her joyful laugh and smile as she held the otter in her lap. He longs to see her like that more often. More so, he longs to be the _reason_ for it.

* * *

 In a month’s time, Emma’s friendship with Killian grows. Her romantic feelings for him begin to predominate her platonic ones, but she is determined to stomp them down. She can’t let some silly affection get in the way of a friendship that took them a long time to craft carefully.

April arrives, bringing along warm weather and MLB’s opening day. Emma wears her Yankees cap to work that morning in honor of the day, even though her team does not play the first game of the season until tomorrow night.

She groans when Killian shows up with an Orioles cap. “How dare you enter my shop wearing _that_ ,” she greets him, pointing disdainfully to his head.

“How dare you live in Baltimore and root for the bloody Pinstripes,” he deadpans, raising his eyebrows in a challenging manner.

“Humph,” is all she says as she turns around to prepare his usual order. “Cranberry orange scones? Or something else?”

“Just the coffee. Eric offered to bring some of his wife’s scrumptious blueberry muffins for us.” He leans against the counter, his ears suddenly turning pink. “Swan?”

She turns to look at him. “What?”

“I-uh.” She swears he is actually stumbling on his own words. “I managed to procure two tickets to the game on Saturday. The Orioles will be playing a home game against the Yankees. Would you mind accompanying me?”

Her breath hitches in her throat. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He grins widely, his cocky persona replacing the bashful one that had spoken naught a minute ago. “We _could_ consider it one if you so desire.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, we won’t. Just two friends out at a baseball game.”

“Aye, Swan. Just that. Nothing less, nothing more,” he promises, looking at her with such earnest that she can’t help but consent.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

He grins. “Wonderful, love. I just need to know where you live so I can come pick you up.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “I know how to get to Camden Yards!”

He chuckles. “I know you do, Swan, but it is bad form for a gentleman not to pick up his lady friend at her place.”

She purses her lips, admitting that he does have a point. She scrawls her address on the coffee cup before pouring the hot caffeinated beverage into it. After securing it shut with a lid, she hands it to him and he wriggles his eyebrows teasingly at her before leaving the shop.

It is official. She is going on an unofficial date with Killian Jones.

On the day of the “date,” she slips into a grey cotton T-shirt dress, the hem reaching just a little above her knee. Opting for a pair of white kicks, she knots the laces together and ties her hair up into a ponytail to better accommodate the Yankees cap on her head. After applying mascara to her eyelashes - _why are you wearing makeup for a friend,_ she reprimands herself - she trails to the living room, slinging the black crossbody bag over her shoulders, and waits, trying to control the sudden rapid beating of her heart.

Suddenly, she hears a knock at the door and her heart loses it, picking up its pace so rapidly she thinks it will burst from her chest. Taking a deep breath, she opens the door to reveal Killian standing on the other side of the threshold, decked in a typical bright orange Orioles jersey and a pair of black jeans. He has a black leather jacket on and she bites her lip to keep from smiling widely. _He looks really good in leather._

“Good afternoon, Swan.” He grins cheekily at her, raising an eyebrow. “You look stunning.”

“Hello, Killian,” she says, rewarding his compliment with a small smile and a soft blush on her cheeks as she ducks her head. Holding tightly to the strap of the bag, she grabs the key to the apartment from the coffee table. “Ready to go whenever you are,” she announces as she crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe as she eyes him.

“Lead the way,” he declares, stepping aside for her to walk through. She does so, closing the door and locking it before tucking the key safely in the purse. She looks at him expectantly and he smirks as he follows her to the elevator.

His Maserati is parked by the curb and he opens the door for her, waiting until she climbs safely in and settles back against the car seat before he shuts the door. When he walks all the way around to climb into the driver’s seat, she comments, “I thought we’re just two friends going out.”

“Aye, Swan,” he asserts. “Won’t stop me from being a gentleman.” He concludes with a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows and she closes her eyes and shifts her body so it faces the window. Killian begins to drive, turning on the radio. “Death of a Bachelor” begins to play and Emma turns to face Killian with wide eyes.

“You listen to Panic! at the Disco?” she asks incredulously.

“Aye,” he responds. “I prefer classic hits from the 1980s, but I don’t object to this rock band.”

“I love this band,” she admits, beginning to sing to the chorus as she shifts her gaze to the window, watching as Killian enters the highway. When she looks back at Killian, she notices that he continues to side-glance her, smiling in amusement. Eventually, the song is over, transitioning to a Guns N’ Roses hit, one Emma doesn’t recognize, so she continues to stare ahead at the window while Killian drums his fingers on the steering wheel, singing underneath his breath. At the sound of his voice, she turns to look at him. _He really can sing_ , she thinks. _What can’t he do?_

They arrive at Camden Yards and Killian finds a parking spot just in time before the game is about to begin. He hands one of the tickets to Emma and they walk together to the entrance of the baseball stadium. They immediately head to the bleachers, snatching two seats for themselves before anybody crowds over and they’d have to stand to watch the game.

“See, I’m not the only one in Baltimore who likes the Yankees!” Emma points out, gesturing to the enormous number of navy-blue caps and white jerseys dotting one half of the stadium.

“Sod the Yankees,” is all he says with an incredulous shake of his head and she laughs.

The game begins, and already, victory seems to be promising for the visiting team. As inning after inning passes, the scores tally up in favor of the Yankees: two to nothing.

“Bloody hell,” Emma hears Killian mutter as she claps her hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

“We’re better,” she says defiantly. “You guys are just tiny birds.”

“Tiny birds with breathtakingly colorful plumage,” he responds, still staring out at the field with a frown fixated on his face, but when she catches a glimpse of it, she notices the teasing grin threatening to break out on his face, no matter how irritated he attempts to look.

She has a sudden itching urge to lace her fingers into his, but she doubts he would want that. Or maybe he _would_ , but she _knows_ that holding his hand would make the situation between them realer than it already is.

Besides, they are just two friends out to a baseball game.

“Bloody gits,” Killian swears, causing Emma to laugh again. “The game is almost over and the bloody birds _still_ haven’t achieved anything spectacular.”

Emma stands up to look at the scoreboard. _Four to one, Yankees._

“Sucks to be you,” is all she says with a teasing smirk, pursing her lips together as she stares intently at the batter in the black uniform outlined with orange, the cap mirroring the colors of the jersey perched on his head.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mutters again when the batter misses the first two pitches, and Emma can’t help but laugh. She can’t really recall the last time she has laughed and enjoyed herself around a guy.

_Since before Neal broke your heart_ , she remembers, and suddenly she sobers, the laughter fading away as her eyes stare coldly at the sky with her lips curving a bit downwards.

“Swan?” Killian’s voice breaks through her web of pensive thoughts as he snakes his arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

She tenses for a moment, barely replying with a not-so-assuring, “Yeah,” but he does not remove his arm from her shoulders; instead, he begins to toy with the ends of her hair.

She watches him the whole time, eyes flitting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. He turns to smile at her gently before looking out at the field again. A small upward tilt forms on her lips and finally relaxes his touch, leaning her head towards him but not quite resting it on his shoulder. Thoughts of Neal fade away as she focuses on the way his fingers deftly play with her hair and the way his arm feels warm, solid, and comforting around her shoulders. She doesn’t know what to make of it all.

Killian releases his hold on Emma to lean forward until he is practically sitting on the edge of his seat, his legs bouncing in anticipation. “Finally!” he hoots, slapping his knee excitedly.

“What?” she asks, getting her answer when she looks at the scoreboard. _Four to two._

_Four to three._

_Four to four._

“Seriously?!” she almost yells. “We were doing so good! That’s not fair!” She punctuates her opinion with a pout of her lips which she replaces with a small frown when she notes Killian eyeing the pout more often than not.

“It is too fair, Swan,” he insists, leaning back in his seat to sling his arm around her shoulders again. “It’s clear that the Orioles are more exceptional than the Yankees.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, they’re not.”

He simply grins at her and toys with her hair again as he continues to stare out at the field. Emma herself sits on the edge of her seat, eyes widening as she watches the game. Just knowing that either team has the advantage to win _gnaws_ at her and she herself starts to bounce her legs, holding her breath as the Orioles batter hits the ball.

_Four to five._

The fans erupt, waving orange foam fingers in the air and throwing their caps in the air as they jump and cheer, causing the bleachers to shake. Killian himself remains seated in his seat, a wide grin chiseled on his face, his arm still around Emma.

Emma frowns and leans back against his touch, crossing her arms. “We were _so_ close,” she protests, turning to glare at the annoyingly smiling bird on Killian’s cap.

“It is too fair,” Killian simply states as he crosses his leg over his knee, that same stupid cheeky grin still plastered on his infuriatingly handsome face.

Emma rolls her eyes and hides the smile threatening to break out on her face by biting her bottom lip. They remain seated like that while spectators file out of the stadium. After a span of five quiet peaceful minutes - peaceful at least for _them_ \- Killian uncrosses his legs and plants his arms on his legs as he looks up at Emma, a tendril of hair falling over his forehead.

(Good thing she doesn’t give in to that itching desire of pushing back the tendril of hair.)

“A victory like this one calls for a celebration,” he announces. “But because this isn’t a happy occasion for you, I will let you pick the place. Where would you like to eat?”

After some contemplation, she settles for sushi and he finds the nearest place and heads over there, driving around the block until he finally finds a parking spot. They enter the restaurant and are led to a table for two. Before Emma seats herself, Killian is there to pull out her chair.

“Gentleman,” she teases, and he responds with a wide grin and a click of his tongue.

“Always, Swan.”

They enjoy their dinner, laughing over jokes and revealing small snippets of their lives. She learns that he was born in London, that he moved to Baltimore after graduating in London with a master’s degree in biological sciences, and that the only family he has left is his elder brother Liam with his wife and two children who are still back in England.

She reveals that she grew up in Manhattan with the one family that’s always wanted her, that she moved to Baltimore so she could attend Towson University, and that she managed to open up her coffeeshop in a span of less than five years. She does keep her inner secrets to herself, however, not bringing up the last relationship that had broken her heart. It seems he keeps some of his past hidden too because when he speaks of his first few years in the city, his voice grows somber and he constantly stares down more at the raw fish than at her.

Eventually, the conversation steers to more cheery subjects as Killian speaks of a boat he owns - “a _ship_ , Swan,” he corrects - and how he takes her out on the water every weekend with Eric and Ariel, his wife.

(“You are welcome to join us anytime you want,” he assures her with a soft smile and she rewards him with one of her own.)

It is past ten o’clock when they finally depart from the restaurant, which has suddenly become overcrowded with young people looking for fun on a Saturday night. They take a stroll down right by the harbor, walking past boats and the marine institute, the building dark sans the myriad nightlights posted at every corner of the building. The breeze begins to blow a tad more forcefully, so Killian shrugs off his leather jacket and leaves it to rest on Emma’s shoulders to keep her warm, despite her demanding efforts not to take the jacket.

“You’re cold, Swan,” he deadpans. “I see you shivering.”

“No I’m not,” she fibs, rubbing her arms up and down. He challenges her with a mute raise of the eyebrows and she relents, tucking the jacket closer to her. It smells like the ocean, like _him_ , and she finds the smell pleasant, despite the overwhelming thought that they really are more than friends, that it is crystal-clear they are.

After the walk, he drives her back to the building, walking her to her apartment (because he _is_ a gentleman, after all). They arrive at her door, but she doesn’t unlock it yet; instead, she waits for Killian’s adieu. He approaches her and leans his face towards hers, eyes flitting back and forth between her eyes and lips, just like she had done at Camden Yards. As much as she shouldn’t be, she anticipates a kiss - a _good_ one - so she tilts her chin upward and flutters her eyelids shut, waiting.

But instead of a kiss, his lips ghost over her cheek. “I had fun tonight, Swan,” he whispers when she finally opens her eyes to meet the blue ones that gaze into hers with such intensity.

Emma purses her lips together, giving him a tight smile. “Me too,” she admits, looking down at the floor and trying hard to ignore how flushed and hot her cheeks feel. And all of a sudden, she feels the panic settling in. She now knows that he is not like any guy, but that is what scares her most. She feels that she is capable of falling so hard for Killian that if he’d ever break her heart, it would pain her for such a long time after. She _can’t_ get too close to him.

With her decision foremost in her mind, she lifts her glance from the floor to fix it on Killian, who continues to stare at her with that same intense look, almost as if he _knows_ what she is going to say. “Killian,” she begins, wincing. “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore. I- I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He looks down at the floor with a tight smile, scratching the tip of his right ear nervously before he finally meets her hesitant gaze, eyes wide with panic clearly circulating in the green irises. “Of course, love. I understand.”

(As much as he tries to smile, she knows that it is all fake, that he is trying to remain optimistic for himself and for her.

It’s crazy just how well she can read him.)

He smirks at her wryly before he turns around to walk towards the elevator. She continues to stare after him, feeling her heart practically swoop down to the bottom of her stomach. When the doors open, he turns around and regards her once more with a firm line of his mouth and resolute eyes before he presses a button, causing the doors to shut him away from her view.

Emma takes a deep breath as she unlocks the door and enters the apartment, shutting it and leaning against it. It is true. She can’t see him again.

The thought of it makes her feel miserable.

Sighing, she takes the jacket off her shoulders and lays it neatly on the armchair before trailing to the bedroom to leave the baseball cap and the bag in the closet. Remembering the jacket, she practically sprints to the living room to stare down at the black leather in horror.

_The jacket. He left the jacket on her purposely._

Now she _does_ have to see him again in order to return it to him.

Gosh _darn it._

 


	3. Chapter 3

On Monday morning, Emma arrives at the coffeeshop ten minutes before eight o'clock, even though Killian doesn't usually arrive until nine.

She is still there early nonetheless, the coffee machines already brewing and the freshly-baked croissants, scones, and muffins placed in the display window of the counter, waiting to be sold. Eventually, the customers begin to pool into the cafe, some lingering at the tables and others leaving as soon as they have entered.

But despite the flow of customers that seems to increase ever so much, not one of them has sexy raven-black hair and beautiful eyes the shade of the ocean that she constantly finds herself getting lost in every time she looks into them.

And she grows more frustrated with him because, true to his promise, he does stay away from her. _On purpose_ , she scowls, accidentally running her finger through the burning caffeinated liquid streaming from one of the machines. After handing the hazelnut mocha to the waiting customer, she takes off the red visor and hangs it on a peg, calling out to Elsa, "Can you take charge while I run over to the IMET?"

Elsa lifts her head from the dishwasher to raise an eyebrow knowingly at Emma. "Don't tell me you're _that_ desperate to see Killian," she remarks in amusement. "It was only a baseball game, remember?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "I actually _never_ want to see him again," she emphasizes. "I just have to return his stupid jacket to him."

"Fine, go return that stupid jacket," Elsa consents, that same teasing smirk chiseled on her fair features.

"Thanks." Emma throws on her leather jacket and slings Killian's over her arm as she retrieves her car keys from her pocket. When she unlocks the Bug, she lays the black leather delicately on the passenger seat next to her and glares at it before starting the vehicle and staring straight ahead at the road as she drives off to the institute. She parks about a block away from the building and travels the rest of the way on foot, despite her distaste of the cold. Somehow, she finds herself enjoying the way the wind blows through her hair, causing the blonde ponytail to bounce buoyantly on her shoulders.

She enters the building, looking straight ahead at the staircase as she heads straight to it, remembering the first time she had seen Killian in his profession. Vaguely remembering the way to where his laboratory is located, she saunters up the steps and turns to the right, walking down the corridor as she glances back and forth between the numerous doors. Knocking on one, she waits until a woman with - rather disheveled - black hair and piercing brown eyes opens it, red lips pursed in courteous annoyance as she questions how she may assist her. After receiving directions to Mr. Jones's laboratory, the woman shuts the door immediately and Emma rolls her eyes as she continues walking down the hallway until she arrives at the designated door. Holding her breath, she raps on the door and waits, bouncing nervously on the heels of her boots.

The door opens, revealing a short woman with a nest of blonde hair piled on her head. Emma recognizes her as one of Killian's coworkers, but she can't recall the name. Tina? Tink?

The woman herself smiles mischievously, her eyes twinkling in hilarity as she scrutinizes Emma, almost as if she knows something about her.

_I wonder what the hell he's told her_ , Emma thinks in irritation before she says, "Hi, I'm Emma Swan, Killian's friend. Is Killian around?"

* * *

The crab taps rather impatiently at the glass with its pincer, catching the attention of Killian, who is busy recording bulleted commentaries on the clipboard. Killian lifts his head to look at the crab and chuckle before he continues the task.

The crab taps on the glass again and Killian pauses chuckling to glare at the creature. "All right, mate," he begins to chide, and it seems as if the crustacean has taken a hint because the tapping ceases and its eyes blink languidly at Killian before it slowly lowers its pincer to pinch at the sand. Killian shakes his head and lets out a short chuckle as he replaces the pen in his pocket. Clutching tightly to the clipboard in his hand, he waves an adieu to the crabs and maneuvers through the tank room, thoughts shifting from the crabs to Emma.

_Bloody hell. She ran._ On the night of their "date," he remembered seeing that look in her eyes from time to time, and he had planned on giving her a true goodnight kiss, but he realized that she wasn't ready yet. Instead, he had planted a light kiss on her cheek, somehow knowing that it would have a great effect on her. He deduced long ago when he had met her that she must've had her heart broken before - hence the walls taller than skyscrapers in Manhattan - but now he has no doubt.

He wishes to find the ponce who had caused this guarded demeanour, and punch the bloody daylights out of him for even _hoarding_ a thought to hurt the beautiful lass.

His thoughts of Emma dissolve when he returns to the laboratory. He is about to place the clipboard on the table so Tink can take a look at the observations, but he furrows his brows in perplexion when he notices that Tink is not at the table, but at the door instead, seemingly in conversation with a person standing on the opposite side of the threshold. He approaches Tink and begins to ask, "Who's there, lass?" before he finally arrives at the door, his eyes widening to thirty times their size when he registers who is at the door.

_Swan._

"Emma was just asking for you." Tink turns around to announce with a sudden innocent smile, so innocent that Killian immediately narrows his eyes suspiciously at her. She purses her lips together to conceal her grin as she takes the clipboard from Killian and ducks into the lab, closing the door to leave the two to be.

"I-I wasn't ex-expecting to see you here, S-Swan," he finally manages to stutter out, reaching up to scratch the tip of his ear nervously.

"Here's your _stupid_ jacket," she announces shortly, thrusting the garment into his hands and turning as if to go.

"Emma." He gains his confidence and reaches out to grab her gently by the elbow, causing her to spin around and face him. "Why won't you let me in?"

"How did you know I was going to run?" she says, ignoring his question.

He keeps his gaze on her all the while, retaining his gentle hold on her. "You're something of an open book to me, love." She raises her eyebrows disbelievingly, but he continues. "I saw that look in your eyes all night. I couldn't let you go just yet, not when we can still have a chance. If only you'd stop being so bloody stubborn, Emma."

She is clearly rendered speechless, he thinks, her mouth falling open in a sort of silent gasp as she continues to stare into his eyes - _almost yearningly_ , he swears - and bites her lip nervously. She tries to slip from his grasp, but he still clutches to her elbow. "Don't go," he pleads, his heart starting to pound more quickly.

"What?" she whispers, lifting her head to look at him again, her stare almost causing his mouth to go dry because _she is so bloody beautiful_ , but he regains courage and repeats more firmly, "Don't go."

He watches the uncertainty flicker through the smaragdine irises as she opens and closes her mouth several times before she begins, "Killian, I," her voice fading away as she lowers her gaze to the ground and shakes her head.

But she doesn't walk away, and that somehow reassures Killian. "Swan," he confesses, "I was once in love too and had my heart broken. But if there's one thing I learned, it's that if a heart can be broken, it means it still works."

Her bottom lip starts trembling and he longs to kiss it chastely, to kiss the pain away so she never feels it; but he knows that would frighten her more and cause him to lose her forever. So he opts for a consoling embrace, encircling his arms around her and letting his hands run up and down her arms in comfort. He silently offers his chest as a pillow and she immediately complies, laying her head on him and wrapping her arms around him so that her arms are splayed on his back. He hears her sigh and can't help but incline his head towards hers, fingers dancing up and down her bicep before trailing over to card through her ponytail, marvelling at how soft her hair is.

(It amazes him how they work in sync, the two of them understanding each other's mute requests.)

A few quiet, peaceful moments and then she lifts her head from his shoulder to smile timidly at him. He rewards her with a soft grin of his own, vowing to "take things slow, love."

"Thank you," she whispers, still holding onto him as her hand travels from his back to the nape of his neck, reaching up to toy with the ends of his hair. He can't help but grin like a lovestruck fool down at her and a shaky but happy laugh escapes from her lips, tugging playfully at his hair before releasing him.

"See you tomorrow?" she asks - almost hesitantly - and he curses himself for not having shown up at the cafe earlier in the morning.

"I won't miss it for the world," he promises, admiring the way her smile increases ever so slightly before she turns and leaves, walking down the corridor to the staircase.

Her swears her eyes twinkle more than the most brilliant emerald ever could.

"So _that's_ Emma," Tink's voice pipes up, and Killian jumps at the sudden sound of it. Tink herself stalks up to the man, rising up on her tiptoes to sling an arm around his shoulders.

"Bugger off, lass," Killian says, too elated to pay heed to Tink's teasing. Looking down at the leather jacket dangling over his arm, he lifts it to his face, the scent of roses instantly penetrating his nose. It screams _Emma_ , and he finds the scent so exquisite and so calming. The giddy grin remains transfixed on his face as he makes a stop at the faculty closet to hang the jacket on a hanger next to his overcoat before returning to work.

All day, he thinks of a golden-haired lass with strikingly sparkling green eyes, a dazzling smile, and a guarded yet beautiful heart.

The mere thought of her makes him smile.

But after he has arrived home, eaten two homemade fish tacos, and settled in bed with _Henry IV_ and his precious flask of rum, his emotions change to an angry melancholy as his thoughts transition from Emma to elsewhere. Dropping the Shakespearean play in his lap, he clutches the flask tightly and quaffs some of the alcohol before rising from the bed to traipse to the large dresser planted by the wardrobe. Kneeling down, he pulls out the bottom drawer and digs his hand underneath the piles of neatly folded sweatpants and t-shirts until his fingers touch the unmistakable feel of a wooden picture frame. Holding his breath, he takes out the frame and sits back on his heels to study the image of a woman with long brunette curls and a soft shade of greyish-blue eyes, the shade reminiscent of an impending storm at sea.

"Milah," Killian manages to croak, his voice echoing unpleasantly in the confinement of his bedroom. He takes the frame with him to the bed, tucking himself beneath the covers and propping his pillow back against the headboard. He sips again from the flask and swipes his tongue out to lick at a stray droplet threatening to trickle from his bottom lip. Closing the flask, he leans back against the pillow and stares indignantly at Milah's picture, his jaw clenching.

He had purchased this house for her, he remembers, back in those days when he truly believed he had everything he ever wanted. He recalls the moment the moment he had untied the blindfold from her face the day he had presented the house to her. She had kissed him then, planting her hands on his arms so that when they eventually broke apart to catch their breaths, he could look down and observe the sunlight radiating off the diamond of her engagement ring.

_A ring that had remained on her finger for only a bloody month_ , he adds bitterly to himself with another swig of rum. She had left him one night, during the wee hours of dawn actually, to return to her ex-husband, adamantly stating that Killian never loved her, that the only happiness she will ever find will be in the man she had originally left.

All that remains of Milah are memories, the house, and the picture frame. Killian had returned the ring as soon as possible and was debating whether to purchase a new house, but he decided not to, mainly because this one barely contains any happy memories. They didn't manage to christen any other room other than the bedroom.

_Because she was too busy christening her new home with her bloody husband_ , he realizes, uncapping the flask to take another sip of the drink, the burning sensation of the rum not wholly unpleasant as it flows down his throat.

He stops drinking and recaps the flask, placing it in the drawer of his night table before lifting his arms to cross them behind his head. He ceases thinking of Milah as Emma reappears in his mind, and a wistful smile crosses his face as her name rolls sweetly off his tongue. "Emma."

He wishes he had a method of communicating her when he isn't at the coffeeshop. He longs to see her, to _talk_ to her when he feels alone, but he can't.

And that's when it hits him. _Phone number. He can try to gain her phone number._

So Killian stays awake throughout the night, reviewing different ways to approach the subject without scaring Emma. By the time he manages to fall asleep, images of a certain pair of green eyes circulate through his dreams and he slumbers peacefully, waking with a stupefied lovestruck grin chiseled on his face.

A bit of the grin fades when he realizes that he hasn't figured out how to approach the situation the right way. But it seems as if Emma has been following the same train of thought because later on, when she hands him his coffee, he notices that she has scrawled a line of numbers along the side of the cup with a black permanent number (accompanied by a smiley face).

_Her number._

He raises his eyebrows in surprise as he eyes her, an inquiry flickering through his eyes.

"We might as well start texting and calling," she responds, "it's about time."

A wide grin spreads across his face and she mirrors it, her eyes twinkling brightly before she greets the next customer. Killian lifts his coffee cup to bid her goodbye as he exits Swan's Coffee Beans. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he swipes the lock screen and proceeds to make a new contact for the woman who has managed to capture his heart in just a span of two months.

**K:** _You have made this handsome bloke a happy man._

**E:** _Poetic idiot._

The grin persists to stay plastered on his face when he reads her text, somehow _knowing_ that despite her choice of words, she must be smiling too. Sneaking a glance into the shop through the window, he catches sight of Emma blushing and smiling widely as she stares down at her phone before putting it to the side to package two muffins.

They start texting each other more often now, Killian beginning by sending her a picture of the otters floating in the water, she responding with multiple heart-eyed emojis.

**E:** _When can I come back to see them?_

**K:** _Whenever your heart desires._

At home, he snaps a shot of Smee lying on the carpet with his nose in the air and his tongue hanging out comically to the side, sending it to Emma.

**K:** _This is Smee, my best mate._

**E:** _So cute! But SMEE?!_

Killian inhales sharply as he twiddles his thumb indecisively over the letters before deciding to mask the truth behind his reasons for naming his dog.

**K:** _Aye. What's wrong with that, Swan?_

**E:** _You named your dog "Smee." Big fan of Peter Pan?_

He closes his eyes in pain and breathes deeply, attempting to rid the memories racing through his mind. Wincing, he texts his reply, hoping Emma wouldn't read through his seemingly cheery response.

**K:** _Of the book and movie, yes. Of the character, no. He's a villain, Swan._

**E:** He _'s not! Hook is the villain!_

He releases an audible sigh of relief. _She didn't notice._ And he can't help but roll his eyes in amusement at her outcry. _If only she knew..._

**K:** _Tsk, tsk, Swan. I must lend you the book one day._

**E:** _If you insist. But seriously, your dog is really adorable. He must be so fluffy!_

Killian chuckles at Swan's enthusiasm. _Aye. So, so soft and fluffy._

**E:** I _t must be nice to have a pet._

He raises his eyebrows at her comment. _Do you have one?_

**E:** _No. No pets allowed in the building._

**K:** _Did you have one as a child?_

Killian bites his lip nervously at the rather lengthened interval it takes for Emma to respond. He watches the bubbles appear and disappear two or three times before she finally sends her reply.

**E:** _No. Couldn't ever have one._

**K:** _I'm sorry, love._

His heart pangs for her, realizing that there is more to her than he thought. Does the lost look in her eyes have something to do with a - seemingly - rough childhood?

On Saturday, after he arrives home from a boating trip with Eric and Ariel, he decides to visit Emma at the cafe and have Smee accompany him so she can finally meet his dog. She squeals of excitement and immediately kneels on the floor to pet the golden-furred animal and whisper little nothings into his ear. He stands and hooks his fingers into his belt loops, staring down at the two in admiration.

"He's such a good dog," she gushes as she rises from the ground to meet his square gaze.

"Aye. When he's not barking like a madman in the middle of the night," he chuckles, her laughter joining in. "Would you like to accompany us on a walk?" he adds, heart quickening its pace because _since when does he blush and grow nervous when asking a lady out?_

"Can you wait until I finish work?" Emma asks. "There's only a half hour left until I close."

"Of course, love," he consents, choosing to sit at a table tucked away far into a corner, Smee remaining on the floor and wagging his tail while he watches the newcomers enter and exit the shop. Emma approaches them to hand Killian a cup of chai latte and Smee a large bowl full of water. Killian throws a smile of appreciation her way and she grins back before returning to the counter.

After closing hour, he assists her and Elsa in cleaning the shop, Smee staying out of the way by napping in one of the seats at the booth tables. After thanking Killian for his help, Elsa leaves immediately to finish some errands while Emma remains behind to ensure that everything has been cleaned and is ready for a new day.

Killian watches Emma lock the shop and put the key safely in the pocket of her leather jacket. "Where would you like to walk?" he asks her.

"Uh, maybe down by the institute? The water there is calming."

"I agree." They each saunter to their respective cars, but before Killian gets into his, he finds himself staring at the yellow vehicle she drives. "That's quite the vessel you captain there, Swan," he comments with a small smile, eyes laughing when Emma turns to regard him with a disbelieving yet pleased smirk.

He follows Emma's Bug that leads him to the institute, parking a little way off from the building. "I like the water down here," Emma admits when she approaches him. It's peaceful."

He can't help but grin softly at her as he whistles to Smee, who bounds out of the car and looks up expectantly at his master. The trio begin their stroll, striding down to the pier so they can stand and stare out at the water serenely lapping at the poles that are mostly underwater. Smee trots ahead of them, shaggy tail swinging cheerfully at them as he pauses to sniff at the air before he sits on his hind legs and tucks his paws in front while he glances at the water.

Killian chuckles. Like master, like dog.

"I could never have a pet because I never stayed long enough in a home for it," Emma whispers, green eyes narrowing at the water.

He instantly slings an arm around her shoulders to hold her close to him and run his hand up and down her arm as consolation. Looking down at her, he waits for her to continue.

She purses her lips before she inhales and adds, "I was in the foster system for a long time until Elsa's aunt adopted me. I was fifteen at the time, so I thought nobody wanted me because I was too old. But Ingrid wanted me. She's the mother I wish I had."

Killian bends his head. "Anybody who doesn't want you is a bloody fool," he declares, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

And it seems as if Emma senses his sincerity because she timidly reaches for his hand and laces her fingers through his, holding onto his hand tightly. Her act takes him by surprise and he looks down at her uncertainly, but she assures him with a smile and he grins softly, raising their joined hands to press a featherlight kiss to her knuckles.

"I was an orphan myself, love," he confides in her. "My mum passed away when I was only eight years old and father left my brother and I not long after that. Liam was only sixteen at the time. He worked hard to provide for himself and I. Best man I've known." He can't prevent the proud grin spreading over his face as he thinks of the brother who had taught him about good form.

Emma slightly squeezes his hand. "Must be nice to have an older brother," she remarks wistfully.

Killian chuckles. "When he isn't being a teasing, buggering git."

Emma nestles her golden head against his shoulder and continues to stare at the harbor. Killian does the same, his thumb unconsciously running along hers, while Smee rises from his spot to circle them, pausing to nudge at Emma's hand.

"He's taken quite a liking to you, Swan," Killian notes as Smee nuzzles his hand into Emma's outstretched palm.

"He's a good dog," she states as she looks down to scratch underneath the retriever's chin lightly. Smee closes his eyes and relaxes his sitting position, a sort of doggy smile crossing his face as he seems to bask in the feel of Emma's hand on him.

Eventually, it is time to turn back, so they slowly retrace their steps back to their vehicles, Emma still retaining her hold on Killian's hand, which makes him flush and grin proudly. When they arrive at their destinations, Killian reluctantly lets go of her hand to unlock the Maserati and push Smee into it, closing the door after the wagging tail. Smee paws indignantly at the window but ceases when Killian does not pay heed to him. Emma waits expectantly with crossed arms and a small wistful beam chiseled on her beautiful face.

"What?" he challenges with a teasing smirk, raising an eyebrow for extra measure.

She laughs and shakes her head, blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders. "Nothing."

He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Your hair is so soft, Swan," he declares in an awed whisper and she blushes. He takes mental note of the fact that she must not be used to take genuine compliments often, which he tucks away in his mental treasure chest of thoughts.

(He vows to constantly laud her with praises and words of infatuation.)

She looks down at the toes of her sneakers before she finally glances up at him through her lashes. "Good night, Killian," she says softly.

"Good night, Emma," he responds in the same tone, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss on her cheek. She smiles at him - _for maybe the millionth time tonight_ , he thinks - before she spins to stalk to the yellow automobile and clamber it, unrolling the window to wave at him before she speeds away.

He lingers outside, staring in the direction the Bug had driven off to with a whimsical upward tilt of the lips. His web of thoughts is interrupted when Smee barks suddenly and angrily, pawing at the window irritatingly again. Killian glares momentarily at the animal before finally consenting and getting into the car. "All right, mate," he tells Smee. "I'm here."

That night, his dreams are occupied by one beautiful golden-haired, green-eyed angel in white.

( _What was her name again?_ he asks himself when he awakens.

Oh. That's right. _Emma_.)

* * *

The sunlight streams through the somewhat opaque curtains, brightening up the entire room. The alarm rings out, the incessant beeps awakening Emma, who yawns and flips on her stomach to reach over to the night table to grab her phone and turn off the beeping device. While going through her messages, she comes across the inbox containing her messages with Killian, and debates texting him, waiting for a few moments before starting to type out a line.

**E:** _Wanna meet up later today?_

She lies on her back and holds up the phone to her face, biting her lip nervously as she watches the screen intently. She inhales sharply when three dots appear in a text bubble, indicating that Killian is typing out his reply.

**K:** _Good morning, Swan. I'd like nothing more. What did you have in mind?_

**E:** _Uh, maybe someplace for dinner?_

**K:** _That can be perfectly arranged, Leave it all up to me. :-)_

The phone slips from her hands, landing on her chest, as she smiles up at the bare ceiling. She's finally come to admit that she does like him, a lot, maybe just as much as he seems to like her.

It astounds her that he agrees with her wish to take things slow. He is incredibly patient with her.

_How does a man like him even exist?_

The day flies by with the prospect of seeing Killian, the time being a little past eight-thirty when she at long last closes the shop and finishes her sprucing-up routine. When she arrives at her apartment, she takes a quick shower and changes into a pair of clean jeans and a white tee, which she tops with a large but comfortable dusty-pink cardigan. She slips into the white kicks and focuses on applying a minimal amount of mascara and eyeshadow, attempting to keep her look as natural as possible. She interweaves her hair into a thick plait and is just finished clasping her precious swan pendant around her neck when she hears a ding from her phone.

**K:** _Dinner is being served at my home. I hope you don't mind._

**E:** _Not at all._

She lingers, fingers dancing over the screen rather impatiently until he finally responds, sending her his address. Taking her keys and the black crossbody, she exits the complex and rushes to the Bug, hoping to arrive at Killian's house in time before it is too dark outside. She drives all the way to Rosedale, a peaceful thirty-minute car ride despite the slight amount of traffic on the road, and cruises through a serene neighborhood until the GPS indicates that a rustic yet modern-looking house is the intended destination. Emma parks in the driveway behind Killian's black automobile, and sits back in the car seat, admiring the way the brick material of the second story contrasts wonderfully with the white material of the first. Two large green trees seem to frame the entire plot, accompanied with two separate arrays of shrubs running along the main pathway leading to the door. A lamplight hangs over the front door, illuminating the doorway of the building.

Emma snorts. Of course Killian would live in a house like this one.

She leaves the car and treks up the pathway to the door, admiring the black oaken door before pressing on the door knob attached to the side. She waits a few moments, laughing when she hears Smee bark alarmingly, and then Killian opens the door.

She internally releases a sigh of relief. She's glad that Killian has dressed casually for the occasion: light-wash jeans and a thin grey turtleneck pullover.

"Welcome to my humble home, Swan," he greets her with a mischievous smirk and she scoffs.

"'Humble' home?" she asks, shaking her head and concealing her pleased smile. "It's nice, though. I like it."

He bends his head to silently thank her, and she notes a small blush spreading over his cheeks. _So he isn't used to compliments himself, the cocky bastard_ , she thinks, tucking that small bit of information away so she doesn't forget.

"Would you like me to take your bag?" he offers, and Emma complies, handing him the purse. Noticing that Killian is wearing only socks, she unties the laces of her kicks and takes them off, leaving her to pad around the house in her duckling-printed ankle socks. She catches Killian looking down at her feet in amusement before he opens the hall closet and nestles her bag carefully on the top shelf.

"Neat freak," she states, looking at the orderly way he has his shoes and outer garments arranged.

He huffs in mock annoyance. "Pardon me for liking to keep my things in order, Swan," he states, earning him a chuckle from her.

“If you’ll excuse me, Swan,” he adds, tugging Smee by his collar, “let me take this rascal upstairs so he doesn’t spoil anything.” 

Emma laughs as he whistles at the retriever, who obediently travels up the stairs, tail wagging behind him. She lingers by the door and waits patiently for Killian to return. He does, bestowing a bright smile on her, one she mirrors back at him.

"May I escort you to the kitchen?" he asks shyly and she consents, so he leads her to it, one of a moderate size with an island in the center of it. Two plates of meaty ragu with pasta, lightly sprinkled with parmesan cheese, await them, accompanied with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses placed between the dishes. The light bulbs above the island have been dimmed down enough to give off an aesthetic feel of budding romance.

"You cooked?" Emma asks incredulously, turning around to meet the gaze of this man who has suddenly transformed into a bashful schoolboy. It seems as if he's lost his words, and she can't prevent the laughter that escapes from her lips. "Speechless?"

He blinks before grinning cockily. "So you _do_ approve," he comments, reaching over to encircle his arms around her waist.

"I do," she emphasizes as she wraps her arms around his neck and thumbs at his scruff-covered jaw gently. "Thank you."

He grins, the _adorable_ cocky bastard that he is, and rather reluctantly releases her with a warning that their food will "grow cold if we don't eat soon, love. Don't let the dinner I painstakingly prepared for us go to waste now."

She chuckles and sits down on a stool, Killian pushing it in her for. "Gentleman," he reminds her, beating her to the punch when she opens her mouth to tease him for the gesture.

The food is _delicious_ , and she doesn't forget to tell him, giggling when his elfish ears turn a bright shade of tomato-red.

(I do not have elfish ears, Swan," he gasps. "What a bloody outrage!"

She laughs before pointing out that he does _too_ have elfish ears.)

Their conversations are light, both exchanging hilarious anecdotes from their childhood and teenage years - or at least, the few good memories Emma clings to when she thinks of her, otherwise, _shitty_ childhood.

It is just past eleven when they finally finish their dinner and swallow down the last bites of banana chocolate swirl gelato. Emma helps Killian load the dishwasher and wipe down the tabletop of the island before pushing the chairs, despite Killian's horrified commentary ("Swan, you are my guest. You should _not_ be cleaning at all").

He retrieves her crossbody from the closet while she puts her kicks back on, taking longer than usual to tie the laces together _because she really doesn't want to leave._ But they both do need their rest; tomorrow's Monday and Killian needs enough sleep so he can return to work as a refreshed man.

"Thank you for dinner," she states when she finally rises from the ground to take the purse from his outstretched hand and sling it over her shoulder.

"My pleasure, Swan," he responds lightly, finger trailing through some loose strands that her escaped her braid, Emma smiling because now she knows just how much he lo- _likes_ it. She watches his face, his blue eyes looking down at the blonde tendrils while his mouth curves into a small wistful upward tilt.

And somehow, that is when she makes up her mind to progress further with the state of their relationship.

She inches closer to him, nudging her nose with his. He breathes sharply, but doesn't move at all, and she takes it as a good sign, so she closes the distance between them, brushing her lips tentatively over his. He instantly submits, opening his mouth to nip at the flesh of her lip gently.

_Damn, what a kisser._

She eventually - _and reluctantly_ \- breaks off the kiss, leaning her forehead against his so she can catch her breath. _He really kissed the fucking daylights out of her._

"Swan," he whispers against her lips, reaching to kiss her again. He pins her against the door and she giggles as she reciprocates, running her hands almost _frantically_ up and down his back. He seems to be frantic too, nipping at her lips urgently and squeezing her hips with his hands.

"There," she whispers when they finally stop, breathing heavily. She smiles sweetly at him and he leans back so she can open the door. "Good night, Killian," she adds with a soft smile before exiting the house.

"Good night, Emma," he parrots in the same tone, that adorable look of awe fixated on his face as he lifts a hand to touch his lips with his fingers.

(She does the same when she sits in the Bug, hoping he doesn't notice.)


End file.
